


earnestly yours

by Bre



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Dry Oliver Queen, F/M, Feelings Realization, Feels, Huddling For Warmth, POV Oliver Queen, Protective Oliver Queen, Season 2, Wet Felicity Smoak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23985142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bre/pseuds/Bre
Summary: Set between 2x10 and 2x11. Felicity falls off the Starling City docks during a mission and Oliver has to get her warm.
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Comments: 96
Kudos: 463





	earnestly yours

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt request from a donor for the Fic for Food Drive! The prompt was anything canon Olicity. I read a book last weekend that involved the "oh no you are freezing, I must get us undressed so I can warm you up right now" trope, so naturally I shoved that right into the middle of Season 2. I started randomly watching Olicity scenes and this fit so nicely right after 2x10.
> 
> (I combined this with a prompt from alanna-the-lionheart because it fit the trope so perfectly: "If you're still doing drabble/ficlet prompts: #13 (in the storm) & #49 (coming home).")
> 
> Enjoy!

The bike roared in a deafening rush as they whipped through the midnight traffic. The rain that had been misting a moment ago slowly morphed into thicker sheets and he cursed under his breath, urging his bike to go faster as the storm grew worse. Ice cold wind slashed through his leathers with a thousand razors that felt like someone was peeling his skin off his bones. His exposed face had long since numbed, and every ragged breath scored the tender flesh of his esophagus and lungs.

He didn’t care. He went faster.

All that mattered was getting to the foundry.

The arms grasping him around his middle loosened. 

Oliver’s heart stuttered wildly as her hands slipped from where they were supposed to be tightly clasped against his sternum.

He slapped his gloved hand over hers.

“Felicity!” he yelled over his shoulder. “You have to hold on!”

If she said anything, he couldn’t hear her over the rush of the wind battering his face, or his helmet he’d hurriedly shoved over her soaked ponytail. God, if he was cold, he knew she was freezing, soaked as she was from the icy ocean water she’d been pushed into. 

Oliver gritted his teeth, his chest caving in, remembering the shadow appearing behind her. A fourth man, unaccounted for, taking Felicity out where she’d been working on breaking through the manual keypad. Her, distracted by her tech, Oliver distracted by the three men guarding the ship. All it had taken was a simple push and then she’d been in freefall. Even wearing the rain boots she had been so damn proud to have in her car hadn’t been enough to keep her feet from slipping on the slick dock, from her falling onto her side and rolling right into the tumultuous waves.

Everything had stopped the instant she disappeared under the water.

He didn’t remember the men getting away. He barely remembered one of them socking him in the face so hard he swore his jaw had cracked. He had a vague recollection of them disappearing through the gate, of them alerting the ship, of the shipments they had tried to stop getting away.

But none of it mattered as he’d skidded across the dock.

Oliver had been ready to jump in after her, but then Felicity burst out of the water, sputtering, her arms flailing against the growing waves responding to the storm moving in.

He had no idea how he’d managed it, but one second he’d been on the docks and the next he was leaning over, grabbing her arm, and hauling her out. It wasn’t strength so much as pure desperation for her to not get swept away, to not get lost forever in the vast darkness that was the Pacific Ocean.

She’d lost her phone, her glasses, and worst of all, her car keys.

For some reason taking his bike had seemed smarter at the time, but now he cursed himself for being so damned stupid. She might have had a shattered window, but he could have broken into her car, hotwired it, and worried about fixing it up later. But that had seemed like too much time wasted even then. All that mattered was getting her somewhere warm, especially with her lips turning blue, her shivering so bad she could barely speak… 

It had seemed like a good idea until he found them caught up in a storm that was only getting worse.

Oliver let go of her hands to rev the engine again, but she wasn’t even trying to hold on anymore. Her hands slipped and he snatched at her arm, yanking it around him as tight as he could.

“Felicity!”

Her helmeted head lolled over his shoulder. Was she even awake? Panic tore through him.

The foundry was too far. They needed shelter. Now. 

“Hold on!” he shouted, squeezing her arm as raindrops hit them in a sea of tiny bullets, the storm gaining momentum. “Please just hold on. Please.”

They were closer to the foundry, but it was still at least eight minutes, and that eight minutes too much. They were on the edge of the warehouse district, though, and close to old residential areas that had been destroyed in the Undertaking.

Oliver changed directions.

In less than a minute, he was pulling into a driveway that led to a barely-standing carport connected to a dilapidated house. The concrete was cracked down the middle, as close as it had been to the earthquake machine, and his wheels barely cleared it as he roared into the covered space. He pulled in as close as he could, doing his best to keep Felicity secured to his back as he parked the bike. The storm grew stronger, wind whipping against them.

The kickstand was down, Oliver was up and off the bike, and he was sweeping her up into his arms in the same breath before kicking in the closest door to them.

A kitchen.

“Hello?” Oliver shouted as he shoved his way through the house. Debris littered the floor, the air stale and moldy. “Hello?”

Nobody.

The walls groaned under the force of the wind as Oliver hurried into a looted living room. The furniture flipped upside down, graffiti covering the walls, trash and broken bottles and burned pipes covering the ground. Someone had been squatting here, but they weren’t any longer.

Oliver’s gut burned at the thought of having her in a place like this, but he didn’t have a choice.

His mind raced, every new thought heavier than the last as he swept out of the living room and down a hallway. A closet, a bathroom, a door that was barricaded by something on the inside, and then another room. It was tiny, and the earthquake had sent a large dresser crashing into a bed, crushing it under its weight. If he could get it off, it would hopefully be cleaner than anything else in the house. Enough to get her under some covers and get her warm… 

Felicity’s shivers were subsiding.

“No,” he gasped, quickly setting down on a chair tucked in the corner covered in dust. He whipped the helmet off. Her pale face shot dread through him and he cupped her face. “No, no, no, Felicity… Felicity, look at me. Felicity!”

Her eyes fluttered and she took a shuddery breath, shaking. She tried to focus on him with a croak of, “Not… my best idea…”

“You need to keep your eyes open, do you understand?” Oliver asked, rubbing her cheeks. It wasn’t enough. He needed to get her warm, and he needed to do it now. “Keep your eyes open,” he ordered before surging to his feet. 

With a grunt, he crouched by the bed, cupped the corner of the dresser, and shoved up. It was heavy as hell, and his muscles strained so bad he shouted. But he got it up and off the bed, sending it crashing back against the wall where it’d been originally. The bed was smashed, but still usable, the bedsheets where they’d been when whoever lived here had made the bed. His insides twisted, wondering where they were, if they had survived, but he pushed it back down, burying it to be dealt with later. Right now he had far more important things happening.

Oliver whipped the sheets back. A quilt folded at the foot was still there and he shook it out, tossing it over the bed.

“Your clothes are wet,” Oliver said, crouching before her again. Her eyes were shut. “Felicity!”

“Hmm?” she managed.

“I need to take these off, okay? Your clothes. And then I’m going to put you under those covers and get in with you to warm you up. Okay?”

“Um…” Felicity furrowed her brow. “Is this real?”

“Yes, it’s very real, and I’m worried you’re going to become hypothermic if we don’t get you warm. C’mere.” 

Oliver whipped his gloves off and unbelted her jacket. It was soaked and he grimaced, moving faster. They might be out of the storm, but there wasn’t any warmth in this place, and she had already been exposed too much already. He tugged her jacket off with a hurried, “Can you get your shirt off?” before he leaned over and removed her boots. Her feet were ice and he cupped them, rubbing them. When he looked up, her hands were shaking too hard to remove the button-up sweater she wore, her arms too heavy to even get up to her chest.

A moment of hesitation - he was about to undress her - but then it was gone, because he had to.

“Here,” Oliver said and he whipped her sweater and the little camisole underneath it off, leaving her in a lacy bra with yellow flowers stitched into the cups.

His heart skipped a beat, but he shoved the feeling away, silently chastising himself because that was not what this was about. This was about helping her. He tugged on her hands as he stood up, forcing her to stand with him. She was all lethargy, leaning heavily on him, and he pulled her into his chest to unzip her skirt at her lower back. The material clung to her and Oliver had to peel it off her. The fact that she was ice cold distracted him very well from her matching panties. He nearly bit through his cheek in disgust with himself, especially when he thought it would be best to get her completely naked and out of her wet underwear, but this was already crossing too many damn lines.

Oliver swept her off her feet and set her onto the bed, wrapping the quilt around her. She whimpered and he whispered, “I know, I know,” before ripping his boots off, then his leathers.

They clung to him worse than her clothes from the rain, but he had it all off in record time. They landed with heavy plops on the ground, the thud of his weapons making her jump, his compression shirt next, leaving him in nothing but his boxer briefs.

Oliver climbed into the bed with her and yanked the blankets up over both of them.

He was chilled, but she was freezing.

“C’mere, c’mere,” he whispered, pulling her flush against him. She hissed and he crowded the quilt around her back before cocooning them in the rest of the stale, dusty sheets. He wrapped them up before dipping under the comforter to start rubbing her back through the quilt. She burrowed into him, her shaking intensifying, and he murmured, “Warm up, Felicity, warm up.”

“Oliver,” she whimpered, her teeth chattering, shudders wracking her tiny frame.

He hugged her closer. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

The storm raged outside the house, gusts of wind and rain battering the walls, cold air seeping in.

Despite that, though, the blankets started working, trapping their heat, creating a warm pocket.

It was a goddamn mistake bringing her out into the field. They should have waited for Diggle’s shoulder to heal. He had foolishly thought he would be able to protect her, but all he’d done was get her hurt. 

Again.

Oliver gritted his teeth, huddling her closer, probably too tight as he buried his face against the crown of her head. A mixture of ocean and old dust greeted him, and he found himself frantically nuzzling her until he caught a hint of her shampoo.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Stay with me, Felicity.”

An eternity passed before her shivers started subsiding. No, longer. He was vigilant for every second of it, checking her pulse, her breathing, his hands skimming over her bare skin, as much warming her and checking to make sure she was starting to retain some body heat. On top of that, his instincts were on high alert, painfully aware they were in an abandoned house in the Glades, half-naked and with his weapons on the floor instead of in his hands.

Thankfully, nothing happened, save for the wind finally dying down.

Oliver had no idea how much time passed before she fell still.

“Felicity?” He brushed her hair away from her forehead. It was still damp, but drying where she was tucked in-between his chest and the quilt. She didn’t reply. Oliver pulled back to look at her, but he couldn’t see her face. He cupped her cheek, tilting her head up, his eyes used enough to the darkness that he saw the outline of her features. He shook her slightly with a desperate, “Felicity?”

“Oliver?”

“Hey,” he breathed, a relieved smile on his lips. He brushed his thumb over her cheek, under her eyes, silently urging her to open them. Her eyes opened on a flutter, and she stared at his chest in confusion. Oliver sighed, and he let some of the tension turning his back into rock slip a bit. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” she murmured, the word slurring.

“I’m sure,” he murmured. 

Even in the dark of the room, he could see some of her color had come back, enough for him to stop feeling the press of panic threatening to drown him. She was warmer, too, sharing heat instead of him trying to make up for what had been stolen from her. Still, he wasn’t anywhere near ready to attempt and face the cold world until he knew for sure she was good. And then there was the issue of their clothes being wet still. Unless he could find something in the room for her to wear. 

Later, he told himself, when he knew for sure she was okay. 

“You should sleep, if you can,” Oliver said.

She snorted. “If I can…”

Felicity burrowed closer, pressing her nose over his heart. They were both damp from the ocean and the storm, from the lingering heat of their breaths, and her skin dragged over his as she cuddled closer. 

It was only then that Oliver knew for sure the danger was over, as parts of his body that had been behaving were suddenly not. The gentle press of her soft curves against his hard lines had him biting the tip of his tongue until he tasted blood. He closed his eyes, willing himself to relax, hoping she didn’t come any closer… 

She cuddled in until there wasn’t anything between them but their underwear.

“Uh… Felicity,” he said, his voice cracking on her name.

“Isn’t it kind of counterintuitive to tell me to sleep in a dream?”

He furrowed his brow. “What?”

“‘Maybe he’s dreaming about you,’” she mumbled, huffing as she buried her face in his neck.

Oliver fought to breathe as the lace of her bra scraped against his scars. She slipped her leg between his thighs, her foot curling around his knee. Abruptly, making sure she was warm became the last thing he was thinking about. Well, not exactly, since there was something that came to mind that he knew would keep them both very warm… 

He clenched his jaw so hard it hurt as he mentally kicked himself.

“Maybe he’s dreaming of you,” Felicity repeated on a little laugh that didn’t match her words.

He had said that to her, he realized absently, about her and… Barry Allen. Because he wanted her to feel better about him being in a coma. Because he hadn’t wanted to admit that part of his issue with her not being there when he needed her was because he was jealous her attention was on another man, like the selfish bastard he was. 

Did she think she was with Barry?

A sliver of ice cut through him and he had to squash the urge to tell her who he was.

No, it was better if she did, he told himself, better for both of them… 

“Don’t tell him my dreams aren’t about him,” Felicity said.

Oliver froze, his heart stopping dead in its tracks. It occurred to him in that same moment that she thought she was dreaming. And not about Barry. A precipice opened inside him, part of him wanting to bring her back to reality, but another part wanting - no, needing - to hear what else she would say. 

“It’d be easier,” she continued in a sleepy voice, “because you are so, so, so not mine.”

Oliver’s lips formed her name, to tell her this was real, but his voice stopped working.

“But you’re like… coming home,” Felicity mused on a peaceful hum that slowly dissolved as her exhaustion caught up with her. “Good dreams. Such good dreams. You’re good dreams. My dream telling me to sleep. I want to be home to somebody. I want it to be him, but it’s you. You who doesn’t see me. Nobody sees me. Nobody thinks I’m home.”

“That’s not true,” Oliver whispered before he could stop himself.

Felicity harrumphed. 

Oliver held his breath as he held her close, waiting to see if she would continue, but nothing happened. Not until her muscles slowly relaxed, her breathing evening out, sleep finally claiming her. For real, this time. Only then did Oliver start breathing again, sagging against her.

He had suspected, to a degree, that there was something more on her side. He saw it when her eyes lingered on him, heard it in the different cadence of her babbles when she was talking to him, felt it in the way she touched had to touch him whenever they were close. But it was one thing to wonder, and something else entirely to hear the actual words coming out of her.

To want to hear them.

A longing he didn’t know how to name filled him, stealing the air from his lungs.

It was wrong, and he knew it, but Oliver gave into the urge to do more than be a source of warmth for her. He cradled her against him, holding her like he wanted to when he let himself think about what could be. How things might be different if he wasn’t who he was, if he was someone who could deserve her, who could be everything she deserved and more. Oliver swept his hand over back, and not because she was pressed against him in nothing but her panties and bra, but because he wanted to soothe her. He wanted to comfort her. He wanted her to know, somehow, because he would never say the words to her, that he did see her, that he saw so much more than she knew, and that she was home.

A home he could never have. No matter how much he wanted it.

Oliver let himself have this moment. He gave in, burrowing into her as much as she did him. He didn’t let his guard down for a single instant, completely aware of everything around them, but he did let himself wish that maybe this could be his life… 

Even though he knew it never would be.

Hours passed, and he let them, holding her as she slept, treasuring her trust, protecting her as she rested. He had never thought he would get the chance, and he took on the responsibility as seriously as the mantle his father had left for him last year. 

But when the weak hints of sun started peeking through the fading storm clouds, he knew he had to get them up.

Yet he didn’t move, not right away, not as he stowed emotions he couldn’t put a name to, locking them back inside a box with a dozen locks that could never break, not if he wanted to keep her safe.

The air outside their cocoon was still chilly, but it lacked the vicious bite from the night before.

Oliver left her in the blankets as he got dressed, grimacing at the cold in his leathers. Everything she had been wearing was soaked through still, and there was no way in hell he was going to put her back in them. He found some old sweats, ratty but clean, in one of the dresser drawers. She was groggy as he woke her, as he coaxed her into the clothes, supporting her. He slipped her feet back into her boots and with her clothes and his helmet tucked under one arm, he helped her out to where his bike still was. It occurred to him somebody might have stolen it if there hadn’t been a storm, and he shook his head at himself. Last night had been a disaster left and right, and all because he had needed to keep doing something, to clean up the city, to outweigh the bad lurking in the shadows… 

And the one paying for his actions was one again not him, but Felicity.

The early morning air nipped at his skin, but he didn’t care as he realized she didn’t have a jacket.

Oliver shrugged out of his Arrow jacket and tucked it around her.

“No, this is yours,” Felicity managed, blinking her eyes rapidly as she woke up more. “It’s cold-”

“Yes, it is,” Oliver interrupted, stopping her from taking it off. “You are nowhere near your normal core temperature right now, Felicity. Please put it on. Please.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. I promise.”

It was only because she was still caught in a half-fog that he convinced her to keep it, and he knew it. She glared at him grumpily, slipping her arms into the sleeves, leaving her swimming in green leather. 

“This is stupid,” she said under her breath, trying to zip it up with shaky fingers. He nudged her fingers out of the way and zipped it up for her. He couldn’t stop a little smile at the sight of her in his Arrow jacket and it only made her glare more at him. “You think people aren’t going to stare as we drive down the street like this?”

“It’s still early,” he replied, moving to put the helmet on her.

“No, you need this-”

“Absolutely not,” he said, slipping it on her. “It’s dark enough nobody will see us. Now c’mon.”

They made it to her apartment without incident. He pulled in behind her building, cutting the engine in an effort to not wake more people than he needed to. Felicity was oddly quiet as he walked her to her door, until she smacked her forehead, remembering her keys had fallen out in the water.

Oliver fished out the backup she had given him.

He quickly opened the door, happy when he felt warm air waiting, and ushered her inside.

“You should take a shower, and then get into bed with as many blankets as possible,” he said, moving around her to get to the linen closet where he knew she had extra blankets. “I think we staved off the worst of it, but it’s going to take a while to get back to normal-”

“Oliver.” He looked back at her. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he said before she could continue, stepping back towards her.

“I keep doing stupid things that make things worse-”

“No, you did everything right,” Oliver told her, his hand cupping her cheek before he realized what he was doing. He dropped it. “I was the one who didn’t have your back last night and that will never happen again.”

“You had my back,” Felicity said with a soft, tired smile as she looked up at him. “You always do. Okay, fine. No more apologies, then. I’ll just say… thank you, I guess. For not letting me freeze to death. Although I do feel like I should apologize in advance for whatever I say later because I can guarantee nothing that happened last night as really sunk in yet, and I know when I see you later, I’ll be putting my foot in my mouth because I’m sure I said or did something that was super embarrassing-”

“You were perfect,” Oliver told her.

She blinked. “Oh… Good. Then. I mean, good. Then.”

His lips ticked up in a smile and he didn’t fight his fingers from brushing over her cheek. “Hot shower,” he instructed. “Hot beverages. Soup. Anything warm. And blankets. Lots and lots of blankets.”

“Right.”

“I’ll call you later.”

“Ha,” Felicity breathed. “Never thought I’d hear that from you. I mean, like this. After spending the night together. In our underwear. Oh… god, that… happened, I…” She screwed her face up and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “I am on the verge of a babble.”

“Then I should go,” he said, the smile still curving his lips. “I will call you later, though.”

“Okay. Oh, here.” She shrugged out of his Arrow jacket and handed it to him. “Thank you, Oliver.”

“You never have to thank me,” Oliver said as he took the jacket. Their fingers brushed, and maybe it was because of last night, or not getting any sleep, or now that he knew in explicit detail what it was like to have her body pressed against his, Oliver cupped her face and brushed his lips over her forehead. “Ever.”

“Still,” Felicity whispered.

Another smile, and then he stepped back towards the door. “Stay warm.”

“So not a problem right now,” she said under her breath as he left, locking the door behind him.  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Reviews literally feed the soul and muse!


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